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Part Four - Teal'c [by PHO]
Samantha Carter tells me that Daniel Jackson is recovering. I am pleased, though I fear my teammates are not aware of this. They do not realize that Jaffa training requires much discipline, of body and of mind. To survive as a Jaffa, particularly a First Prime, emotional release is virtually non-existent. To the Goa'uld, any form of emotional display is a weakness. And weakness, of any sort, is not tolerated. I spent many more years as a slave to the false gods than I have as a free man, fighting beside teammates of equal stature. As much as I might desire to mimic the barely restrained excitement of Captain Carter, I cannot yet do so. The need to conceal my thoughts and feelings is too firmly imbedded.
I hold Daniel Jackson in much esteem. His training has been that of a scholar, not a warrior, yet he functions well within our circle. Indeed, I am unable to imagine SG-1 without him. His loss would be a tragedy of the greatest proportions.
As I watch Colonel O'Neill's reactions, I recognize my own frustration in situations over which I have no control. The bond between Colonel O'Neill and Daniel Jackson is beyond my understanding. The two men are opposites in almost every aspect of their personalities, except loyalty and honor. Never have I seen two more honorable men. They personify much that is good in the people of this planet. One displays is strength, and reticence, and the other intellect, and openness.
Colonel O'Neill has stayed with our damaged friend for three days now, and has taken it upon himself to endure the worst of Daniel Jackson's suffering. I fear he has not yet come to terms with his own anger at what was done to our friend, to the rest of his team, and … to him. Captain Carter appears to have released her anger, though there are shadows in her eyes which surface when she thinks that no one sees. Our imprisonment in the naquada mine was exceedingly difficult, though their thoughts, and my own, were primarily for Daniel Jackson's safety, despite his cruel and thoughtless words in that place.
I have meditated much since our return, and can find no forgiveness in my heart for this woman, this Shyla. I have no doubt that she knew what the sarcophagus would do to our friend, yet she professed to care deeply for him. This I do not understand. From the little I have heard, this person persuaded Daniel Jackson to reenter the sarcophagus with promises of our release. At this point, the damage was done, and each subsequent session only served to exacerbate the problem. When at last we were released, I found that I was unable to recognize my young friend. Indeed, there was not much to like in the person he had become. I hope soon to see the Daniel Jackson whom I admire.